Mourning
by ExtremeDancer
Summary: Just a drabble on Remus's feelings following the death of Peter Pettigrew and facing the final battle. Oneshot.


**A/N: **Part I is set the day after Wormtail's death in book 7. It assumes that after Harry, Ron, Hermione, & Co. arrived at Shell Cottage and gave Bill a rundown of events, Bill sent messages to pertinent Order members like Remus telling them everything that had happened.

Part II is set during the final battle during that brief reprieve when Voldemort gave the good side time to collect their dead while he waited for Harry to come give himself up in the Forbidden Forest.

**Mourning—Part I**

It's funny how you never react to death the way you expect you will. If someone had told me a year ago, a month ago, even a day ago that Bill Weasley's Patronus would come tell me that the last of my friends from Hogwarts was dead, I would've expected a reaction. Maybe I would've expected tears and sadness for the man who had been my friend all those years ago. Maybe I would've expected relief, like a weight had been lifted from my chest by the passing of a man who had caused so much death. Maybe I would've expected to go and hold my son and be thankful that there could still be a life so innocent and untouched by the evil this war had to offer. I wouldn't have expected no reaction at all, yet this is what I have. Peter Pettigrew is dead, and I feel nothing.

I suppose it could be said that this is what happens in a war. Maybe that's true. Maybe I'm just growing immune to the pain of loss. I've seen so many friends die, maybe I'm just numb to it. I think, though, that the Peter I knew died a long time ago. The Wormtail that helped create the Marauder's Map and ran around with a werewolf at every full moon died the second he betrayed James and Lily. I mourned then. I mourned for the loss of James and Lily, murdered by the Dark Lord, and for the son that would never know his parents. I mourned for the loss of Peter, murdered in cold blood for standing up to the betrayer of our band of friends. I mourned for Sirius, my best friend, as he was shipped away to Azkaban, and I wondered for thirteen years how I could have missed the signs.

Years later, when I learned the truth, I mourned again. I mourned for the loss of the real Peter, the one who loved James and Sirius and never would have thought of betraying them. I mourned for the thirteen years Sirius had lost in Azkaban, the years the world had spent believing he was capable of ever placing his own life above those of his friends. I mourned for myself, for what the world had done to me that I could have ever believed Sirius would betray us.

Ron told Bill that Peter almost betrayed Voldemort and that's why he's dead, strangled by his own artificial hand. I think, in some ways, I always knew Peter would repent before the end. From the moment Sirius showed me the truth that night in the Whomping Willow, I knew exactly why Peter had done what he had, why he had betrayed his friends. He was scared. We all were. Voldemort was growing more and more powerful by the second. People were dying in droves. In some ways, I almost pitied Peter. He was never smart like Lily or brave like James or hardened by necessity like Sirius and I were. There's never a way to prepare for someone like Voldemort, but Peter was even less prepared than the rest of us. Anyone who dared tell You-Know-Who no… it was the last thing they'd ever say, and we all knew it.

I guess it's understandable now that I don't feel anything. We've been broken for a long time. We shattered the second Peter sold out his friends. We've had pieces missing ever since Voldemort broke down that door and stole the life from James and Lily. The true Marauders died a long time ago, died when Sirius fell through that veil and left me to carry on the memory of what we once were alone. I can't hold it together any longer. I can't pretend. The Marauders are dead, and I died with them.

**Mourning—Part II**

It's funny how you never react to death the way you expect you will. If someone had told me a year ago, a month ago, even a day ago that I would be preparing myself for almost certain death, I would've expected a reaction. Maybe I would've expected tears and sadness for the impending end of an all-too-short life. Maybe I would've expected relief at the thought of escaping from this world of too much death and rejoining my fellow Marauders on the other side. Maybe I would've expected to go and hold my son and be hopeful that me giving my life would allow his to be untouched by the evil this war had to offer. I wouldn't have expected no reaction at all, yet this is what I have. I am about to die, and I feel nothing.

I suppose it could be said that this is what happens in a war. Maybe that's true. Maybe I'm just growing immune to death. I've seen so many friends die, maybe I'm just numb to the idea of dying myself. I think, though, that I died a long time ago. The Moony that helped create the Marauder's Map and ran around with three illegal animagi at every full moon died the second one of those animagi betrayed the other two. I felt death then. I felt the loss of James and Lily, murdered by the Dark Lord, and it felt like I lost two parts of myself. I felt myself die when the real Peter did, the one who loved James and Sirius and never would have thought of betraying them. My beating heart was ripped from my chest when Sirius fell through that veil.

Voldemort is coming. Someone just brought the news. Our reprieve is over. The people around me are preparing as best they can. A lot of them are going to die today. Harry isn't going to turn himself over; we won't let him. Voldemort will unleash his fury and his Death Eaters, and no man, woman, or child in Hogwarts will be safe. A lot of these people—good people, brave people, people who have much more to live for than I do—will die. A lot of them are afraid. I'm not.

So here I go. I've spent seventeen years preparing for this moment. I've spent seventeen years dying a little bit day after day. The last of the Marauders is going to die in the hope that it will enable our memory to live on. I am ready.

Mischief Managed.


End file.
